Much Of Your Pain Is The Bitter

Your Body Is The Harp Of Your Soul And It Is Yours To Bring Forth Sweet Music From It Or Confused Sounds.

The Sun Teaches To All Things That Grow Their Longing For The Light. But It Is Night That Raises Them To The Stars.

Wailing And Lamentation Befit Those Who Stand Before The Throne Of Life And Depart Without Leaving In Its Hands A Drop Of The Sweat Of Their Brows Or The Blood Of Their Hearts.

Said A Skunk To A Tube-rose, "see How Swiftly I Run, While You Cannot Walk Nor Even Creep." Said The Tube-rose To The Skunk, "oh, Most Noble Swift Runner, Please Run Swiftly!"

Knowledge Of The Self Is The Mother Of All Knowledge. So It Is Incumbent On Me To Know My Self, To Know It Completely, To Know Its Minutiae, Its Characteristics, Its Subtleties, And Its Very Atoms.